Tonight I was presented with an unexpected Friday night off, and thought it would be as good a time as any to renew my faltering relationship with my gym. I'm extra-motivated now, because we leave for Peru in approximately 55 days, and while I know the group that I'm going with has a lot of love for me, I'm not sure they'll maintain that same level of love if they have to carry my panting self up the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu.
I was sweating away on the Stairmaster when I noticed one of trainers incorporating a new technique. He had strapped his client into a weighted vest and had essentially leashed her to him using a resistance band. She was running in front of him (or trying to) while he walked the opposite way behind her, pulling back against her as hard as he could.
I will happily walk on the incline trainer wearing my weighted backpack. I will not complain about doing squats on the Bosu ball. I will hum along with my iPod while alternating lunges with sprints. But the second my trainer attempts to introduce a leash into my program...I'm out.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
...And then I did not get carjacked.
There have been a few carjackings on and around campus lately. Not your average, friendly, get-outta-the-car-or-I'll-hit-you-with-this-crowbar carjackings, either - no, these have involved real, actual guns. Campus security has been sending out e-mails, everyone is supposed to be extra-vigilant, yadi yadi. So you may understand why I'm a teensy bit paranoid.
Tonight after class, I walked out to my car, got in, started it up, and started to drive off. Then I heard a sharp, metallic "tappa-tappa-tappa-tappa" from the passenger side. Gulp. I slowly looked over. Nothing. I checked the back seat. Nothing. I made sure the doors were locked. (They were.) I started the journey home again, a bit more quickly this time.
More tapping, more urgent - "Tappatappatappatappatappa!"
Me, mentally - "I'm-so-sorry-sir-if-you-want-my-four-door-mom-car-with-the-factory-speakers-
here-go-ahead-and-take-it!!!"
I proverbially screeched to an actual halt. This set off a "TAPPATAPPATAPPATAPPATAPPATAPPA!"
At this point, I realized what it was. Ice from the beverage I'd had earlier was clinking against the side of my shiny new travel mug that I'd stuck in the cupholder on the passenger side. It was chilly enough to keep all of the ice from melting...but warm enough that my drink hadn't frozen solid, for the first time in several months.
To-dos: drop paranoia. Clean out car.
Tonight after class, I walked out to my car, got in, started it up, and started to drive off. Then I heard a sharp, metallic "tappa-tappa-tappa-tappa" from the passenger side. Gulp. I slowly looked over. Nothing. I checked the back seat. Nothing. I made sure the doors were locked. (They were.) I started the journey home again, a bit more quickly this time.
More tapping, more urgent - "Tappatappatappatappatappa!"
Me, mentally - "I'm-so-sorry-sir-if-you-want-my-four-door-mom-car-with-the-factory-speakers-
here-go-ahead-and-take-it!!!"
I proverbially screeched to an actual halt. This set off a "TAPPATAPPATAPPATAPPATAPPATAPPA!"
At this point, I realized what it was. Ice from the beverage I'd had earlier was clinking against the side of my shiny new travel mug that I'd stuck in the cupholder on the passenger side. It was chilly enough to keep all of the ice from melting...but warm enough that my drink hadn't frozen solid, for the first time in several months.
To-dos: drop paranoia. Clean out car.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Did I stop too soon?
This post was partially inspired by the following conversation with my mom:
Mom: "What mascara are you using now?"
Me: "I dunno...I never remember the names of them. Partly because they're always named Super Triple Extra-Length Amazing Volume Stupendosity, or something like that."
But seriously - maybe I gave up on copywriting too soon. Maybe instead of writing ads for tractors, I should have gotten a job just naming stuff. Which made me think of Mitch Hedberg's take on this:
“I want to get a job as someone who names kitchen appliances. Toaster, refrigerator, blender.... all you do is say what the shit does, and add "er". I wanna work for the Kitchen Appliance Naming Institute. Hey, what does that do? It keeps shit fresh. Well, that's a fresher....I'm going on break.”
Yeah. That job would be perfect.
Mom: "What mascara are you using now?"
Me: "I dunno...I never remember the names of them. Partly because they're always named Super Triple Extra-Length Amazing Volume Stupendosity, or something like that."
But seriously - maybe I gave up on copywriting too soon. Maybe instead of writing ads for tractors, I should have gotten a job just naming stuff. Which made me think of Mitch Hedberg's take on this:
“I want to get a job as someone who names kitchen appliances. Toaster, refrigerator, blender.... all you do is say what the shit does, and add "er". I wanna work for the Kitchen Appliance Naming Institute. Hey, what does that do? It keeps shit fresh. Well, that's a fresher....I'm going on break.”
Yeah. That job would be perfect.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Me-OW
This is kind of how I feel right now. I am NOT going to get sick again. To do today:
1. Down another gallon of OJ. (Yes, that does imply that I have already downed one gallon of it...delicious!)
2. Take a nap.
3. Intermix napping and OJ with oil of oregano, that magical, natural, anti-microbial elixir.
P.S. To the girl in my class who left her lungs on the desk behind me Wednesday - it's NURSING school. No one will be mad if you're sick and skip class. In fact, we will applaud you.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Tainted Love
If I were describing a dating relationship, you would tell me to get out now. You see, we take each other for granted. One of us leaves, or we tell the other one to leave. I've ended it twice. And both times, I've gone back, asking for another chance. Not only does this relationship leave me physically sore, and feeling somewhat soulless, it also controls what I wear and who I spend time with.
I'm talking about my relationship with...The Cheesecake Factory.
I've gotten new jobs twice. The first time, I didn't even start. The shirts at New Job Number One had a rhinestone logo, and the place reeked of cigarette smoke and meat. (It wasn't a frat bar. It was a steak place in Leawood.)
I actually started New Job Number Two, but quit three days in, after:
1. Spending eight hours a day in training without sufficiently going over table numbers or the menu.
2. Being asked to serve a lunch shift while being followed by a trainer without sufficiently going over table numbers or a menu.
3. Being asked to spend several hours at night memorizing asinine facts about the menu, including all fourteen ingredients in the chicken salad. (Which, if you're curious, are dijon mustard, yellow mustard, salt, pepper, basil, oregano, red onion, green onion, worcestershire sauce, garlic, parsley, and red wine vinegar, apples, and walnuts. I would assume there's also some chicken in there somewhere.) You may assume that this would constitute going over the menu, but (perhaps not surprisingly) people usually don't ask how many ounces of dijon mustard are in the chicken salad.
4. Coming to the realization that there appeared to be only one other female who served in the restaurant.
5. Being told that women usually didn't make it at that particular restaurant.
6. Being told that we were not allowed to request time off but instead were responsible for finding someone to cover our shifts.
7. Having a phone conversation after the third day wherein the other party stated that at least I hadn't fallen on my face. I remembered after this comment that no, while I had not fallen on my face, I had slipped on the kitchen floor and managed to bruise both knees, my right elbow, and my right glute. (Don't ask.) Thing is, I had completely forgotten about falling because it was not actually the worst part of the day.
So anyway. Here I am. Still at the Cheese. One day, I hope to break the cycle. For now, I will continue to wear white pants, and be sure my guests realize the tea is a mango flavor. Did anyone save room for dessert?
I'm talking about my relationship with...The Cheesecake Factory.
I've gotten new jobs twice. The first time, I didn't even start. The shirts at New Job Number One had a rhinestone logo, and the place reeked of cigarette smoke and meat. (It wasn't a frat bar. It was a steak place in Leawood.)
I actually started New Job Number Two, but quit three days in, after:
1. Spending eight hours a day in training without sufficiently going over table numbers or the menu.
2. Being asked to serve a lunch shift while being followed by a trainer without sufficiently going over table numbers or a menu.
3. Being asked to spend several hours at night memorizing asinine facts about the menu, including all fourteen ingredients in the chicken salad. (Which, if you're curious, are dijon mustard, yellow mustard, salt, pepper, basil, oregano, red onion, green onion, worcestershire sauce, garlic, parsley, and red wine vinegar, apples, and walnuts. I would assume there's also some chicken in there somewhere.) You may assume that this would constitute going over the menu, but (perhaps not surprisingly) people usually don't ask how many ounces of dijon mustard are in the chicken salad.
4. Coming to the realization that there appeared to be only one other female who served in the restaurant.
5. Being told that women usually didn't make it at that particular restaurant.
6. Being told that we were not allowed to request time off but instead were responsible for finding someone to cover our shifts.
7. Having a phone conversation after the third day wherein the other party stated that at least I hadn't fallen on my face. I remembered after this comment that no, while I had not fallen on my face, I had slipped on the kitchen floor and managed to bruise both knees, my right elbow, and my right glute. (Don't ask.) Thing is, I had completely forgotten about falling because it was not actually the worst part of the day.
So anyway. Here I am. Still at the Cheese. One day, I hope to break the cycle. For now, I will continue to wear white pants, and be sure my guests realize the tea is a mango flavor. Did anyone save room for dessert?
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Best comment to a table, EVER.
I wait tables. Sometimes, it sucks. Today, I worked 13 hours. I did get a ten-minute break, though, and I got to go to the bathroom once, so maybe I shouldn't complain. My feet are the feet of an 80-year-old woman that have somehow attached themselves to my 27-year-old legs. A coworker, who was sharing a similar schedule (and similar feet) made the following comment to a lady at his table today:
Lady: "We have been waiting THIRTY MINUTES for our table!"
Co-worker: "I've been working for seven hours! I win!"
Lady: "We have been waiting THIRTY MINUTES for our table!"
Co-worker: "I've been working for seven hours! I win!"
Thursday, February 14, 2008
It happened one night...
Disclaimer: despite what you may think after reading this post, I am not on hallucinogenic drugs of any kind. That being said, take my hand, and venture with me into the wild world of Wednesday evening Philosophy class.
In addition to the disclaimer, I also need to preface this by saying that I will be referencing the girl who sits in front of me as Pickles. This is because last week, she brought a Pickle Pak to class and proceeded to eat sweet pickles for two hours straight. That is, until she knocked the Pak over, sending sweet pickle juice cascading over the desk and onto the floor. Fortunately, she was able to mop up...with her gloves...and then clamp the pickle-juice-covered gloves over the noses of her friends for the remaining forty minutes of class, causing them to squeal and recoil in disgust.
6:00 p.m. Class begins. Girl who had been pregnant comes in quite obviously not pregnant. Professor: "Wow! You must've had your baby! Are you sore?" Now, how exactly is New Mom supposed to answer this? She had a baby on Sunday. It's Wednesday. I've never had children, but as I see it, she has one of two possible responses:
1. "You'd be surprised, really - pushing something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of a lemon really isn't all that bad!"
2. "I sure am - that episiotomy was a real b*tch!"
Of course she's sore. But why are you asking?
6:05 p.m. Class commences. We continue adding to our list of "Things to Get Off The Moral Hook, Spring 2008." The premise: come up with reasons that we are not morally responsible for hitting a small child with a car. Included in the list so far: "My prosthetic leg got jammed under the brake pedal." "I was high and thought the kid was a monster." "I'm driving Christine."
6:27 p.m. Pickles pulls out a can of pineapple and a spoon and starts a-snackin'.
6:42 p.m. Pickles wraps up dinner and commences cleaning out her hairbrush, dropping wads of hair on the floor.
7:00 p.m. A discussion on our responsibility to vote begins. Professor Bill points out that the voting machines are all made by one company with ties to a certain political party, and the possibility exists that they operate a master control somewhere.
7:16 p.m. A strangled scream comes out of the heater vent next to me. I think it's the guy one classroom over being exceptionally animated. I THINK.
7:31 p.m. Professor Bill launches in to a detailed synopsis of Moby Dick.
7:33 p.m. Professor Bill wants to know if we know the first and last lines of Moby Dick. The first line? "Call me Ishmael." The last line, according to him? "Call me fish meal."
7:39 p.m. Wrap up synopsis of Moby Dick and begin synopsis of The Neverending Story. When Professor Bill begins talking about Fantastica needing a hero, he does a little leap and bursts into a rendition of Bonnie Tyler's "Holding Out for a Hero." With arm motions. (There is no way I could make this up. I'm not that good.)
7:42 p.m. Weird noise from the heater vent again.
8:03 p.m. Pickles pulls a wad of hot-pink Silly Putty out of her bag, fashions it into eyeballs, and affixes them to her glasses, where they remain for the better part of ten minutes.
8:22 p.m. More strangled screams. I begin to think that someone is actually being tortured in the ductwork.
8:39 p.m. Professor Bill wraps up class with the following statement: "In order to be a moral agent, you must be convinced of your moral responsibility. Chickens might be moral agents, but until you get more evidence, I'm not buying into it."
8:40 p.m. Another day in Philosophy draws to a close.
In addition to the disclaimer, I also need to preface this by saying that I will be referencing the girl who sits in front of me as Pickles. This is because last week, she brought a Pickle Pak to class and proceeded to eat sweet pickles for two hours straight. That is, until she knocked the Pak over, sending sweet pickle juice cascading over the desk and onto the floor. Fortunately, she was able to mop up...with her gloves...and then clamp the pickle-juice-covered gloves over the noses of her friends for the remaining forty minutes of class, causing them to squeal and recoil in disgust.
6:00 p.m. Class begins. Girl who had been pregnant comes in quite obviously not pregnant. Professor: "Wow! You must've had your baby! Are you sore?" Now, how exactly is New Mom supposed to answer this? She had a baby on Sunday. It's Wednesday. I've never had children, but as I see it, she has one of two possible responses:
1. "You'd be surprised, really - pushing something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of a lemon really isn't all that bad!"
2. "I sure am - that episiotomy was a real b*tch!"
Of course she's sore. But why are you asking?
6:05 p.m. Class commences. We continue adding to our list of "Things to Get Off The Moral Hook, Spring 2008." The premise: come up with reasons that we are not morally responsible for hitting a small child with a car. Included in the list so far: "My prosthetic leg got jammed under the brake pedal." "I was high and thought the kid was a monster." "I'm driving Christine."
6:27 p.m. Pickles pulls out a can of pineapple and a spoon and starts a-snackin'.
6:42 p.m. Pickles wraps up dinner and commences cleaning out her hairbrush, dropping wads of hair on the floor.
7:00 p.m. A discussion on our responsibility to vote begins. Professor Bill points out that the voting machines are all made by one company with ties to a certain political party, and the possibility exists that they operate a master control somewhere.
7:16 p.m. A strangled scream comes out of the heater vent next to me. I think it's the guy one classroom over being exceptionally animated. I THINK.
7:31 p.m. Professor Bill launches in to a detailed synopsis of Moby Dick.
7:33 p.m. Professor Bill wants to know if we know the first and last lines of Moby Dick. The first line? "Call me Ishmael." The last line, according to him? "Call me fish meal."
7:39 p.m. Wrap up synopsis of Moby Dick and begin synopsis of The Neverending Story. When Professor Bill begins talking about Fantastica needing a hero, he does a little leap and bursts into a rendition of Bonnie Tyler's "Holding Out for a Hero." With arm motions. (There is no way I could make this up. I'm not that good.)
7:42 p.m. Weird noise from the heater vent again.
8:03 p.m. Pickles pulls a wad of hot-pink Silly Putty out of her bag, fashions it into eyeballs, and affixes them to her glasses, where they remain for the better part of ten minutes.
8:22 p.m. More strangled screams. I begin to think that someone is actually being tortured in the ductwork.
8:39 p.m. Professor Bill wraps up class with the following statement: "In order to be a moral agent, you must be convinced of your moral responsibility. Chickens might be moral agents, but until you get more evidence, I'm not buying into it."
8:40 p.m. Another day in Philosophy draws to a close.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Why study when I can blog about the weekend?
Last weekend, I got to escape the frigid plains of Kansas and hop a plane to sunny L.A.Despite my arrival at an insanely early hour, Andrew oh-so-cheerfully picked me up at the airport and we commenced spending the Perfect Weekend together. Granted, the Perfect Weekend mostly consisted of homework, but it was really fantastic to be doing homework where the distance between us was the length of the coffee table, instead of the length of most of Kansas, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada. Just to give you a glimpse of what life in California is like (and to reassure all of you Midwesterners that yes, 80-degree weather will indeed come again someday...) I've included some photos. Note: I've also included a photo of Andrew and I for everyone who keeps asking who this Andrew person is, anyway. Note II: I did not suddenly become insanely talented with a camera. All photos by Andrew Johnson.
No, this is not a postcard.
Look, Mom! No mittens! No shoes either, for that matter.
Yes, it really was this idyllic.
Meet Andrew! (Confession: I think we're cute.)
Thursday, February 7, 2008
I think I'm done pouting now.
Note to self - don't blog while tired. The world tends to look better after 8 hours of sleep and a cup of green tea.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Leftovers
I've been completely emotional lately for no reason whatsoever. I feel unsettled, off-center, whatever you want to call it. The problem is, it's not consistent - I can deal with feeling consistently one way or another, but I go back and forth between being pretty content and being completely, totally sad.
I think it has something to do with being back in school after such a great break - and not only am I back in school, I'm at Real Actual Nursing School instead of just at small friendly JuCo, and it's a different atmosphere. I also think it has something to do with feeling like I never see people anymore - I spent so much time over break with so many people I love, and now I feel like I bounce between class, work, and homework with no time to do anything else but sleep. I also think it's partly that I feel like I don't know anyone well enough to be real yet - I mean, sure, we spend six hours a day together, but it's not exactly like I'm going to be anything but cheerful.
I think I just need some time to get used to everything. Maybe? Is that it? What's going on?
It makes me think of something New Friend Ben said in class today - "Drama is kind of like Chinese food. It's OK sometimes, but not very often, and you definitely don't want it sitting in your fridge."
I need to clean out the fridge.
I think it has something to do with being back in school after such a great break - and not only am I back in school, I'm at Real Actual Nursing School instead of just at small friendly JuCo, and it's a different atmosphere. I also think it has something to do with feeling like I never see people anymore - I spent so much time over break with so many people I love, and now I feel like I bounce between class, work, and homework with no time to do anything else but sleep. I also think it's partly that I feel like I don't know anyone well enough to be real yet - I mean, sure, we spend six hours a day together, but it's not exactly like I'm going to be anything but cheerful.
I think I just need some time to get used to everything. Maybe? Is that it? What's going on?
It makes me think of something New Friend Ben said in class today - "Drama is kind of like Chinese food. It's OK sometimes, but not very often, and you definitely don't want it sitting in your fridge."
I need to clean out the fridge.
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